


boy, i invented you

by montreal



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Artificial Intelligence, Alternate Universe - Stephen Strange Is Not A Sorcerer, Angst, Car Accidents, Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Iron Man, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montreal/pseuds/montreal
Summary: Some nights are harder than Tony had ever thought, flashes of red behind his eyelids: of unfocused and tired glasz eyes; of Stephen’s shy laughs, reluctant to show more of his soft loving side to the rest of the world; of the custom wristwatch with their initials engraved hidden behind it, glinting under the bright and sharp chandelier as their bodies move in sync, slow music accompanied their longing gazes in the background; of his long fingers wrapping around Tony’s beating heart, promising, forever.i.e. a story of how Anthony Edward Stark-Strange tries to cope with the grief and pain after the death of his beloved husband.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 17
Kudos: 57





	boy, i invented you

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, hello, I was supposed to update “Love, Anthony” but here I am, posting a new story with so much angst in it. This was just a random thought I had one night after writing a two thousand words for my essay, and after that, I was never the same. I know I had to write this or else, I would go insane. So here you go.
> 
> Thank you to Sarah, for helping me throughout the writing, for giving me support and love and ideas and explaining how internal bleeding in chest works and just be there for me when I’m literally sad after writing this story. I love you thousands, darling.

In New York, accompanied by a clear transparent glass of vodka, heavily bitter on the tongue yet merely burning his pain from his chest through his pharynx down to the esophagus: _Tony weeps._ Letting his heart breaks again, just like many nights before. Of excruciating migraine faithfully stays behind his skull, widens as the golden band knocking lightly with the glass, shaking its content. Unconsciously, with no intention, his fingers find their way to the one hanging on his neck. Light yet filled with burden: a reminder. Reminder of the better days: ( _“and I, you, Anthony—forever”_ ) of the better life...

...he sobs.

Tony remembers a slow summer night: kissing under the dying sunset.

His heart bare, Stephen had it on his hands, fingers wrapped around the beating flesh, _promising._ No one had ever made him felt like _this_ – whatever that means. He was familiar with the feeling: of wanting to be remembered, the satisfaction he had even by giving a small part of his sanity. But, no one ever made him felt like Stephen had made him felt.

Slow caress of his fingers, followed with a kiss that left him wanting more. Lingering looks with hidden smiles while wearing their emotion on the sleeves, they bathed each other’s body in warmth. They would lost in each other’s eyes, still unable to comprehend the fact that everything was real, then, the kiss being pressed into his temple, a surge warmth in his belly, electrical.

It turns: into red and more red, thick beneath his fingertips, the one that could be washed physically but stays inside your brain as a new triggering memory, scarred you for life. Words of love and finality being said not long after that, and more of confirmation being said on his ears – a reminder.

Tony remembers _everything._

\--

The story started like this:

Tony met his Stephen at one of his gala.

For some obvious reason, he remembered every bit of it: the Maria Stark Foundation. Stephen was wearing a midnight blue suit that framed his glasz eyes stunningly, complete with a tie three shades darker and a smile that made his heart stuttered. His feet were stuck to the ground but eventually the beautiful man – _and stunning and genius and everything Tony had ever wanted in a man as a lover_ – came up to him, with two flutes of sparkling wine, each of them had bubbles on the surface.

Their conversation wasn’t forced, instead, it had flowed out steadily, continuously like a river. Tony’s attention had been on the man’s plush and pink lips the whole time, and it was no surprise to know that later it had ended up in his bed, under his silk sheets. When he woke up, the man was pretty much asleep, and his hair was messy, dark locks of hair knotted in many angles but the sight had been a _vision_ for Tony Stark.

Stephen’s cheekbones were somehow a bit pinkish in the morning, and with the sunlight streaming down his face, it had been lame and yet he couldn’t help but felt his heart stuttered. He had scrunched his nose cutely when Tony landed a kiss there and then proceeded to push his face away after Tony kissed his lips and tried to steal one more kiss on his cheek.

It had been different.

Tony knew that from the way his eyes landed on the man, it would be different.

And he was never wrong.

Their relationship might not always be going strong, there are some obstacles on the way because both men were busy and barely even had time to breathe, time for themselves. With lots of sacrificing and arguing on the way (and he knew that would be happening any time soon because a healthy relationship always worked that way) they made it work. They always made it work. What he hadn’t expected was when months turned into years, his penthouse filled with Stephen’s belonging, then:

The next thing he knew, he was walking down the aisle, tears in his eyes and Stephen; in midnight blue suit – definitely a different suit but still the same color – joy painted over his face, adding the fact that it was him, it was Tony who made him feel that way. And when they kissed, it felt like thousands butterfly in his gut and tasted sweet and sharp like citrus, lingering on his tongue and left him breathless.

 _Anthony Edward Stark-Strange,_ he fucking loved it.

\--

Everything fell apart like this:

Stephen was in his suit, laughing bashfully when Tony teased him about how good his ass looked in the fitted suit. When they kissed, it was languid, emotion coursing between them and Tony was reluctant to let him go. Their fingers touched and they were warm, reminiscing about the hundreds of summer nights. Hearts beat as one as Tony stands on his tip-toe to peck his husband’s cheekbone, lovely and soft and _languorous._

Throbbing inside his chest widened its range as his husband took the car key and left him for the gala. Thinking about it again, the pain was like when his parents left him all over again, only to know later: waking up with a permanent migraine, heart pounding loudly as the news being delivered quietly by Edwin Jarvis, his butler. But there was no heartache in this one, they were happy and content and full of love, unlike the one with his parents.

And still: Tony didn’t stop him.

When all happened, he didn’t mentally grasp it – didn’t let it soak into him as fast he wanted it to be. And, there was a piece of him that denied the report. Everything was muffled and ringing in his ears until all he could hear was the thumping in his chest went: _thump, thump,_ _thump_. FRIDAY sounded so far away, unclear. In her voice, there was a bit much portion of fear ( _and was that anticipation, too?_ ) as the news being delivered in more detailed information.

His heartbeat was too fast, matching with the caged air inside his lungs, constricted into sharp and shallow pants as the nanoparticles came out from the housing, wrapping Tony in his suit, light but enough to ground him.

He never flew so fast.

The fastest he had ever gone was when the Malibu penthouse bombing, ruining Stephen’s dream house; and that, he was cautious (so much cautious _and_ careful) knowing Stephen hated the height and being held in his armor while he was nothing but in normal clothes. Threat was at arms reach and he would do anything to save Stephen, who was at that time, his long-time boyfriend, not yet becoming his husband.

Tony inhales, exhaled and then, asked in a quiet voice. “Show me his vital, FRI.”

“I’m still trying to get hold of DONNA, Boss. The accident seems to get into her system.” She soon replied at the same level of quiet combined with worries in her tone.

“How bad was it?”

This time, he didn’t get the answer right away. There was a pregnant pause set apart between the conversation – the one that enough to make him swallow his own fear in order to dump away the rest on his chest. His fingertips felt numb for an unknown reason as the suit brought him closer and _closer_ to the cursed road.

“ _FRIDAY._ ”

He asked, voice on edge, eyes wild.

At that, she replied forlornly, “...ninety-six percent, Boss.”

The rest happened like his worst nightmare came to life. Cold and dark surrounded him and the heavily damaged sport car in front of him, with the front being the most effected from the hard collide. It had fell off of a cliff, but for some obvious reason had stopped rolling off instead of continued its fall and went straight to the water next to the cliff. There was no way he would bring him to the hospital like this, it would only end up hurting Stephen more. And Tony didn’t want that.

“Call the ambulance, now.” His voice tight, sharp like the short pant between his words and when he tried to swallow, for some reason his throat sting.

“Already on their way.”

Tony landed near the car, hands shaking from fear and anticipation. “Scan him, FRI.”

“Bruises in many parts of bodies, broken limbs especially his arms, several broken ribs and a contusion, too. But I notice a faint heartbeat. He’s alive.” FRIDAY described in a quiet voice, somehow as scared as him of the possibility that the man might hear the apparent and unconcealed fear in their tone. “But there was an open wound near his thigh and stomach caused by the colliding and internal bleeding in his chest. You might wanna be careful with that.”

Into the soundless nightmare, he tried his best to get him out of there. And it felt like an eternity. It had felt like a thousand moons away and Tony ran out of patience each second. His suit was buzzing from the amount of power he had taken, gave a distinctive gentle hum every time he tried to move a part away from the limp body, painfully slow and thoughtful. Tony sighed a painful breath as Stephen’s body fully came in his sight.

“Stephen, I’ve got you, baby,” the throbs came back as the gauntlet that came in contact with his husband’s body now covered in red, _thick blood red._ “It’s fine, I’ve got you.”

The sight was heartbreaking and his eyes were stinging with fresh tears under the faceplate.

“Anthony...”

Stephen breathed out.

It was weak and faint, but it was Stephen.

Now he got to see him closer, Tony could make out the bruises on his face, the one blooming above his left cheekbone near his eyes, his eyes were half-opened yet they were unfocused, his split chapped lips and also, the big one bruise on the right that had torn the skin there, wound fresh and open and Tony’s heart _broke._

He hadn’t realized the nanoparticles suit had gone inside the housing on his chest, his own clothes came in contact with Stephen’s bloodied one and he didn’t even care about it. His husband’s skin was cooling, cold like the wind and his heart went to his stomach.

“I’m here, darling. I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

More blood on his shirt and hands and they were warm and Stephen was cold and unfocused eyes met glassy brown, more demands being shouted to the AI, more blood and Tony was begging silently (“stay awake for me, Stephen, please,”) and more gasps of breath being taken forcefully, painfully, and the bloodied hand on his shirt loosening its hold, limp and, those eyes turned lifeless.

Head to chest: it was silent, agonizing.

Tony wailed into the silent night.

\--

(“If I make you an AI, what would you name it?”

It was amusing, that such question had offended Stephen, sparing the brown-eyed man with a look that perhaps could make other people squirming uncomfortably, with a frown etched between his eyebrows and an almost unnoticeable pout.

“What makes you think I need an AI?” Stephen asked, not moving from his position on the bed; leaning his back on the headboard with a dimmed bedside lamp on his right, emitting its soft light to the page of the book he was currently interested in. While Tony, had found his comfortable spot on his husband’s chest, putting his weight on the man and his head on Stephen’s sturdy and solid chest. The beating of his heart had grounded his mind, reminding him how that everything he had right now was indeed real and wasn’t what his evil and twisted mind ever thought: an illusion.

Tony shrugged, sighing afterward. “Well, I made Peter one and he named it KAREN, which is smart because you know, Plankton’s wife, and I would make one for Pepper and Rhodey but unlike me, they’re already an AI of themselves, if you know what I mean.”

“So, you think I’m incapable of taking care of myself?” He amused, found the conversation was leading somewhere, he had closed the book and put it aside.

“You’re important for me, Stephen. You’re my husband and with me being Iron Man, threat can come anytime now, okay?” Tony looked up from his position on Stephen’s chest, his hair was disheveled from the amount of nuzzling he had done. He propped himself with his left arm so their gazes could meet, their legs still tangled; his brown eyes met Stephen’s colorful glasz one. “And I want you to be safe. Because if anything ever happens to you, I will never forgive myself.”

There, Stephen had kissed him.

A small peck, but Tony had lingered more for it, hoping that it would last more than Stephen intended.

“Okay, Anthony,” he replied, enough to make Tony breathed in relief. Their lips were only three inches apart, where he could feel the aspiration between his words and his fingers found their way on his husband’s nape. “Now that I think of it, I would probably name it after my sister.”

“That’s perfect.”)

\--

Tony can’t cope.

Some nights are harder than Tony had ever thought, flashes of red behind his eyelids: of unfocused and tired glasz eyes; of Stephen’s shy laughs, reluctant to show more of his soft loving side to the rest of the world; of the custom wristwatch with their initials engraved hidden behind it, glinting under the bright and sharp chandelier as their bodies move in sync, slow music accompanied their longing gazes in the background.

Of his long fingers wrapping around Tony’s beating heart, promising, _forever_.

At those some nights, he finds himself in the kitchen with the light dimmed and him, pouring a glass of whatever drinks that involving a high percentage of alcohol and, he would take a gulp which later turns into a whole bottle being brought to the couch. Burning throat isn’t an odd feeling anymore, it’s rather like accepting the hard truth of reality, a soft flick that reminds him: everything is his fault.

It’s always been his and his only.

Only if he was fast enough and brave enough, he could’ve saved him, still hearing that thump-thump-thump beneath his ear, head to chest, warm and promising and _forever._

“You need to stop, Tony, this— _this_ is not healthy,”

He doesn’t even try to turn his head to look at the person talking, directing their thoughts and concern at him. Leaning his hip on the counter, he takes a gulp of his drink, “if you haven’t noticed, my husband died months ago, I am allowed to do whatever I want, Steve.”

“But this coping mechanism you have is not healthy,” he replies, can’t help but let the concern he has been bottling up bleed in his tone. “I have lost many people in my life, I know how it feels, Tony, and it’s fine to be sad and grieves but this... this kind of coping can ruin you and you might end up hurting yourself instead.”

“That was kind of the whole point, Cap,” Tony mutters under his breath.

Sighing, Steve bravely takes a step closer towards the brown-eyed man. “I just wanted to say that this is not the end of the world, okay? You are not alone, you still have a family. You have Pepper, Rhodey, Natasha, _me—_ ”

“You only say that because it isn’t your world that’s crumbling, it’s _mine!_ It’s _my_ world, Steve! And no, you have no idea how it feels. You have _no idea,_ how it feels to hold him in your arms, bloodied, _dying_ and—and I was so close... I could bring him to the hospital but he’s already hurting and bringing him with the suit would make it worse and I don’t wanna hurt him, so I wait... but he was slipping away and now he’s dead and it’s my fault. You say that because you don’t have to wake up every day only to face the reality that the only person who would ever love the way you are, is dead. So please, shut the _fuck_ up because you know nothing, okay? Please just—just go and let me do what I need to do.”

His eyes redden, breath turns shaky and he’s glad that FRIDAY has always kept the light’s exposure low at night, even lower now that Tony has shared most of his time sneaking around the compound looking for the drinks that numbed down his thoughts. At that, Steve takes a step back and leaves, giving plenty of room for Tony to heave a lung in relief.

The elevator dings, FRIDAY’s voice low and caring in his ears.

He breaks down, letting his tears flow freely, wetting his cheeks as his hands shake and putting his weight to the counter. Sliding to the cold and solid groud, Tony gasps, unable to piece together enough coherent thought to conceal his sadness. It leaves a bitter taste on the back of his mouth, and the choking sounds he makes are disgusting to hear but no one’s there to look, to judge. No one.

No Stephen, either.

Tony refuses to cope.

\--

(“Wake up, sleepyhead, come on,”

“No, it’s still early.”

“No, it’s not, it’s nine—wait no, what time is it, FRI?”

“It’s ten AM, Boss.” She chirped happily, and Tony smiled wider when the man beneath him groaned in frustration as Tony nuzzled his nape, blowing raspberries at the skin.

“See? Come on, wake up, Steph. I made breakfast.”

There, Stephen pauses. “But you can’t cook.”

He blinked once, twice, adjusting his eyes to the high exposure of light, blinding his eyes and giving him sparkles behind the eyelids, and when he glances at Tony, he had a pout on his face.

“Okay that’s insulting, I am hurt.” Tony rumbled a reply and sighed dramatically. “That’s it, you’re not getting any kisses today.”

Stephen, feeling recharged and amused at his husband, suddenly pinned Tony to the bed before he could move an inch away from the bed. Manhandled him until Stephen was on top of the man, startling him in the process. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Hands on Stephen’s chest, mirth in those bright brown eyes. “Make me.”

“ _With pleasure._ ”

Those two words had changed into a fight full of tickles, mainly landed and attacked Tony’s sensitive spot on his waist, the one near his belly button. The brown-eyed man had been trashing the bed in order to avoid the attack, squealing in delight when he simply dodged and held one of Stephen’s wrist, but that hadn’t stopped him because his attack now came from his mouth, blowing loud raspberries onto his neck and collarbone, nipping the skin in between.

“Okay, you won! Stop it, you beast!” Tony squealed when another blow of raspberry touched his skin.

Stephen grinned triumphantly. “ _Your_ beast.”

“That sounds weirdly _hot_ coming out of you, doc. I should be concerned.”

“Oh, you really do,” Stephen huffs breathlessly, still on his position on top of Tony, he took in the state of his husband; messy hair, pinkish cheek, and rumpled shirt. Stephen sighed dreamily, “I _woof_ you.”

He giggled at the pun, and for once, biting back his remark when he saw the serious expression Stephen had wore on his face, then, Tony pecked him on the mouth, “I _woof_ you, too, Stephen.”)

\--

Grief.

That’s what people always told him to do.

The truth is: Tony’s never good at emotion.

As much as he tries to, he cannot. And that is the most frustrating part. Because it was always Stephen’s thing. He might not be the kind of person who wore everything on his sleeves as Tony did, but he was good at delivering them at certain times especially when it’s needed. Most of the time, Tony would mask his emotion – specifically hurt and disappointment – hid them and put them in the big pile of tribulations.

While Stephen, he was good at those things. Sometimes he might come off as harsh and rude but that was his way of controlling his emotion; by putting boundaries on every person and see their reactions on the first hand and once he knew, he would start setting limits on them. Leaving those who never took his words seriously, the one who would push his buttons and keeping the one who was as good as him at controlling emotions.

(Tony was an exception.)

Unlike Stephen, he wasn’t particularly an emotionally intelligent person. Stephen didn’t keep his emotions bottled up as Tony did. Tony tended to let everybody get through him, read him like an open book; he tended to let his emotion ran free, and when they hurt him, it left him bare and exposed.

In the agonizing pain such as funeral, Tony did what he thought was the best.

He didn’t come to Stephen Vincent Strange’s funeral and instead, he hid himself from the crowd, put his sadness and grief and suffer on his pile, buried himself deep under the thick layer of three blankets and he was still feeling cold, as cold as Stephen’s hands that night, cold like the ground Stephen was buried six-feet down.

Then, Tony Stark will stay up tinkering in his workshop accompanied by the void stinging with pain as he swallows the bile, a memory of Stephen sitting on the couch in the room with either a book his friend had given him as a present or a medical record of his patient scattered around the table, mixed up with Tony’s blueprint flashes behind his eyes, leaves as fast as it arrives.

A long time – exactly six months – he has spent locking himself up in the workshop, many friends came by to greet, to ask a little spare time for lunch or breakfast, but none of them worked. None of them worked like Stephen: wrapping his slender arms around his waist, leaning his chin on Tony’s shoulder as the promises being delivered, and stolen kisses in between.

Had it been Stephen, it would’ve been different.

\--

The Malibu penthouse has always been there.

Since the attack that had blown off half of the building, Tony had spent more money (not that he cared about it, anyway) and time for it to be renovated and upgraded; with more security, planting it deeper and wider on its range, make it even more harder to hack into. Ever since Nick Fury came with the offer, they had moved out to the compound, leaving the penthouse cold and lonely and lifeless, but even though they didn’t live there anymore, it didn’t mean that they stopped visiting.

When Stephen was feeling overwhelmed with the work and the loud noises of New York, he would impulsively book a flight to Malibu, just came for the blue-sea view with sounds of waves crashing into each other – the one he had been missing – and the quietness inside the huge penthouse. And later, Tony would take his own private jet, meeting his husband there.

They would spend a whole week just laying around in bed, doing what Stephen always liked to say as: lazy and domestic things like husbands do in their daily life. Pretended that Avengers and Iron Man and Stephen being a busy neurosurgeon never happened. There, would be the time where, in the morning, Tony counted the faint freckles on his husband’s left shoulder, he would kiss every one of them until it tickled him and woke Stephen up, groaning and fussing, because: _Anthony, if you wanna lure me into having lazy morning sex with you, then you should’ve just asked instead of disturbing my beauty sleep_ —and Tony would kiss him stupid although Stephen kept on lecturing him about morning breath.

There, had always been their home.

(Although, Tony believed that everywhere with Stephen had always meant: _home._ )

Until the accident happened, and now: Tony can’t even think about the place anymore.

They might not be living there anymore since the whole Avengers thing happened; since there were five more people needed place into Tony’s personal life, shared another portion of him as if the rest of the world hadn’t known enough – but it didn’t mean that Tony forgot about the place.

It was – _and still and always will be_ – their penthouse.

It might not the penthouse that they bought from their saving, it was all Tony’s money and it was Tony’s penthouse in the first place until Stephen came into his life and fit all of his belongings there, displaying his whole other self there, stripped clean and colorful like his kaleidoscope of eyes: only for Tony to see. He had turned the penthouse from plain minimalism into a place that fits both of their egos and their personality combined and that _amazed_ him to the core to know that there was someone who still wanted to stick with him, someone who matched with his pace and mind and everything.

And when Stephen’s gone: it left him with nothing.

He wasn’t ready— _isn’t_ ready. Never.

He’s never ready.

“Where do you wanna start?”

Tony shrugs carelessly, still in a daze. “I don’t know,”

“Do you... wanna keep the books?” Pepper asks, glancing at the shelf one more time before turning her attention to Tony.

“I don’t know.. I—” he cuts himself, feeling choked up, he turns himself away from the pile of books on the table. Stephen’s books. “I just—I want to throw it all out and sell the penthouse or probably give it to you or _something_ , but I—I don’t know... I’m scared if I do all of those I would be sad because they’re the only things I have left of him but if I don’t do that then, I can’t move on with my life and stuck there.”

This time, Pepper asks carefully, taking a step closer to where the man stands. “Okay, well, maybe we can start something that makes you less sad, something that makes you happy.”

“Nothing makes me happy, Pep.” His bottom lip trembles, on a brink of tears.

“ _Oh, Tony.._ ”

She takes a big stride to him right when Tony’s shoulder slumps forward, sigh shakily. His tough mask has come off and left him bare to the world, unsteady. The tears come uninvited, just like the other pent-up sadness he’s currently feeling right now.

“What if I never move on? What if I _don’t_ wanna move on?”

“It’s fine, we will find a way,” Pepper assures, starting to feel emotional herself. “We will.”

\--

It was a thought of the spur of the moment; on impulse.

He hadn’t meant it intentionally.

But after that, it hasn’t left his mind in peace. It has been stuck there like a plague, rotting deep each second, makes his fingers jittery and movements jerk in abrupt motion. His heart keeps jumping every time the thought crosses his mind, makes him anxious for some unknown reasons.

He decides to follow what his heart wants, putting every file into one big pile of a folder. Mostly are videos of him, which he can definitely get since he has FRIDAY recording almost everything in the compound.

Of course, it’s gonna be a lot different with FRIDAY or JARVIS, he makes a lot of upgrades and changes and bends here and there, because he needs to be perfect. He _has_ to be perfect. There are cups being refilled with coffee – which he considers as something healthy rather than just vodka or whiskey or cold beers, FRIDAY’s reminders that he always brushes off for later, and cold pizza because he hasn’t eaten anything in four days. And when it’s finished, his heart has come up to his throat, constricting the air from the lung.

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

_Fo—_ “hello, Anthony,”

Tony weeps.

\--

“This isn’t right.”

The thing is, Tony hasn’t been planning any further about this. 

He has been busying himself by upgrading STEPHEN, keeping his company quite personally in his workshop and moving FRIDAY to take care of the rest of the Avengers, that Tony even forgot there was a world outside his own, the one that doesn’t revolve around him; the one that hates himself so much it had killed his husband as a warning. Not forget to mention, that there was another human being who lived in the compound with him. Another five human beings in which one of them is Steve Rogers. Tony probably needs to remind himself again that: Steve _fucking_ Rogers needs to stop snooping around, and giving fucks about him and what he does as if he cares.

There are only three people (Stephen; both AI STEPHEN and his-husband-Stephen, Pepper and Rhodey) in his life who really give shits about him, and Steve Rogers isn’t on the list. God, Tony _literally_ red-lined his name on the list.

“I know,” he mutters unhappily, avoiding eye contact with the blond man.

“Then, why?”

From all places, it’s always the kitchen; it‘s always been the places he’s uncomfortable with. Somehow it’s like Steve knows his weak spot. Tony feels exposed like this, being shouted about his issues at the place where it’s not his workshop. In his workshop, he feels grounded, secured, because he’s surrounded by the things he has seen almost every day, things that are his elements. The place where he can pass off without any care in the world because it is his workshop and he trusts the place.

Tony turns away from the counter. 

“Because this is how I fucking cope with the death of my husband! Stop comparing yourself with me, I am not you! I am _never_ you! I was born with flaws, Rogers! Give me a break.” 

“Mr. Rogers, with all due respect, I suggest you leave this floor now.”

At that, Steve has been pretty startled. Blinking twice and _thrice_ to ground himself back to reality, because he still hasn’t gotten used to STEPHEN’s being everywhere. Hearing his voice instead of seeing the man in his sight while wearing Tony’s band t-shirt and pair of loose grey joggers and perhaps a half-read book on his hand, with his steady posture standing tall behind Tony.

“STEPHEN? I thought Tony limit you to get into this floor.” He asks.

“FRIDAY told me there was an emergency in the kitchen, so she gave me the access. And also, no, Tony never gives me any limit, in fact, I control almost the whole building, but mainly I take care of Tony while FRIDAY takes care of the rest of the building and people like you.”

Steve frowns, offended. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just leave, Steve.”

“I can call the security up here to help if you’re being so stubborn, Mr. Rogers.” STEPHEN offers.

The blond man crosses his arms in front of his chest, another word for agreeing to the silent challenge. “You know that I can fight them off, right?”

“Yes. But I also know that with your kind heart and high morale, you wouldn’t hurt innocent people like them.” It would be a lie if Tony doesn’t recognize the hint of smug in his tone, knowing how good STEPHEN handles the situation without shouting angrily which stings his heart even more now.

At that, Steve drops his arms, now, accepting his defeat. “Fine.”

With one more glance, Steve leaves the floor, hot on his heels.

As soon as the elevator dings, Tony’s shoulder slumps, not acknowledging the heavy burden he has on them throughout the conversation. “Thank you,” he swallows, only finding that his throat is dry despite the pooling tears in his eyes and the wavering sadness in his chest, ready to break down.

“Anything for you, darling,” his voice is even softer now, and Tony’s on edge.

There is a pause in between, Tony takes that perhaps STEPHEN has already left the floor and go back to the workshop, but then, STEPHEN’s voice calm and steady, in his ears, surrounding him, reminding.

“I _woof_ you, Anthony,”

He chokes on his tears, yet a laugh slips between his mouth, the happy one; the one that he always got whenever he was with his husband, and then, he looks up to the ceiling, searching for the camera on the corner of the room while thousands emotion burst inside him, because: _of course, he remembers._ “I _woof_ you, too, STEPHEN.”

For once, Tony smiles.

It may not be everything, but it’s enough.

It’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> The part where Tony’s screaming at Steve was heavily inspired from the series I was currently watching called Sorry For Your Loss, the one with Elizabeth Olsen in it. (If you have any spare time, please give it a try, it was amazing and I was crying throughout the movie.)
> 
> The actual quote was: “The reason everyone is telling you it’s not the end of the world is because it’s not the end of their world. They don’t have to figure out how to live inside a world that’s over. You do.”
> 
> And that hits hard.


End file.
